Crap: A Fan Fiction Don't
by clichebusters
Summary: When we started this journey, we could never have guessed where it would take us. From Sparkleheimer's to Chuck E. Cheese, Crap has inspired us, made us cry, and given us mild venereal infections. Join the legacy now. Read the story to end all stories.
1. Chapter 1

THE DON'Ts OF FANFICTION

* * *

This story, my children, is composed of the things you should never…ever…EVER write. Under absolutely NO circumstances are any of these adequate for a good writer's story. Of these errors, or "misguidances," as Kyle likes to refer to them as, we will include: Mary-Sue, Citrus, Vulgarity, an OOC cast, and cheese popcorn at 1:52 A.M. (Typos will not be included. Our apparent lack of dignity for writing this story only reaches such low boundaries…)

To fully understand… everything, read 'General Writing Techniques'. You might get to know what we're talking about here.

Main (OOC) Characters:

-Ashley Jacobs, Mary-Sue/Slut Extraordinaire

-Harry Potter, Pothead Supreme

-Ronald Bilius Weasley, Emo Kid

-Hermione Granger, Wannabe Mary-Sue (a.k.a., Extreme Makeover: Hermione Edition)

-Draco Malfoy, Tormented Soul

* * *

Ashley Jacobs was a beautiful girl, and everyone knew it. Her hair was of the more voluptuous variety; it's thick, silky, black tresses cascaded in gentle curls down to the small of her back. It seemed to move with the flow of her body; it had a life of its own. The features of her slender face appealed to all who glimpsed it, with its soft heart shape, full lips, and pronounced, piercing sky-blue eyes. She moved with grace, power, and confidence.

Ashley Jacobs feared no obstacle. No task was too great for her-her body and mind had undergone many years of intense training under martial arts masters and simultaneous years of fencing school.

Maybe that is why her hand was unwavering as she stepped into the Great Hall for the first time that brisk September morning. Perhaps her mind and spirit were so strong that even the task of defeating Voldemort was not too hard for her.

Maybe she WAS Voldemort. Probably not, though. Anyway.

Stifled conversations rose to the flying buttresses of the Great Hall like butterflies on a lie detector test (this is descriptive writing).

"Who's that sexy BITCH?" someone muttered. However, they had a disease where their vocal chords often and randomly spasm, so it came out as a scream. Ashley smirked in his direction and winked one overly-eyeliner'd eye. Five pounds of makeup fell off her face, Mary-Sues were realized for the ugly, gross, whores that they were, Hogwarts came crashing down, Harry died along with everyone else, no one was interested in Fan Fiction anymore, and the site exploded.

…Back to the story.

A short while later, Ashley was sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Oh, crap. Mary-Sues aren't Ravenclaws…

A short while later, Ashley was sitting at the Gryffindor table stifled by a random group of guys, one of which had their hand going up her robe. But it was OK, because Ashley is a slut who will probably sleep with anyone. Including you, you horny bastard.

…Back to the story.

This particular person (now with both hands up Ashley's robe), happened to be Ron Weasley, who was a little emotional over his lack of lovin' for quite some time now. In fact, he was emotional over most things. Like daisies. Sometimes even cheese popcorn got him a bit teary-eyed nowadays.

Harry, however, was one of the few students who weren't joining in on the new girl's welcome to Hogwarts. He was too busy off in a corner smoking a joint. Wrapped by a Cuban. It was pleasant. The enchanted sky swirling around the ceiling seemed to shimmer, change colors, and produce a rather large depiction of a dancing Dumbledore. "Funny weather we're having, eh, ol' chap?" Harry sighed with content to his pot-smoking buddy, Seamus Finnigan.

"I know what you mean, man…"

In the mean time, Ron had carried Ashley up to the Gryffindor common room to "show her around." However, given the fact that they hadn't been seen for an hour, there was little doubt as to what the tour de la Ron consisted of.

Things that make you go "bleergh." Things consisting of Ron…naked. Like I said. "Bleergh."

Back to the story…

Needless to say, Hermione was less than impressed by this new little farkiss barging in on her territory. Normally, the guys had been overtaken by her brains and mediocre good looks, but now it looked like her only status as school vixen would be overthrown… unless, of course, a makeover ensued.

And ensue it did.

"Oh, Ashley!" she called up the stairs.

Draco was sitting in an abandoned broom closet, crying pearlescent tears…

…of angst.

He picked up a shard of broken glass. It reminded him of his own shattered, young heart. So, he named the piece of glass Friar Borken, which is how the Finnish spell broken. With the 'friar' and all.

DISCLAIMER: This is not a proven fact.

He raised it to his pinkie toe, a much mutilated appendage where he let out most of his torment. Poor toe. Draco cut another slash through it, and it finally fell off.

"Stupid toe! Where am I supposed to put my torment now?" Draco started sobbing. "I'm not really evil! I'm just a tormented soul, just like in the list of characters! What will I do when Papa finds out? How I wish I had someone to hold!"

Just then, a light rapping was heard from the other side of the closet. Draco wiped his eyes and toe stump, and opened the door. Hermione, a much improved version of the bookworm, entered, and for no apparent reason, snogged the face off of Draco. "I knew you weren't really evil! I KNEW you were just a tormented soul!"

Draco smiled. "Finally, someone who understands my angst, sorrow, torment, depression, hopelessness, despair, gloominess, despondency and anguish! I feel SO ALIVE!" However, Draco then had an aneurism and died. Hermione spiraled into a very pretty depression. However, just like a toilet bowl in the southern hemisphere, she un-spiraled when she had an idea…

…Dumbledore.

She ran up staircase after staircase, all the way to the new doorway which Dumbledore had placed there conveniently for no reason whatsoever. "Dumbledore! Dumbledore!" she yelled. Thankfully, Dumbledore was in there, even though he is extremely busy, and he looked like he had time to do some random thing, like obeying what a student said. "Hello Hermione, would you like some tea?" He asked, smiling.

"NO, I DON'T WANT ANY TEA! THE ONE PERSON WHO UNDERSTANDS ME AND MY BOOKWORMISH HOTNESS IS DEAD!" Hermione screeched.

"Oh, alright. I can bring people back to life even though it was clearly stated in the third book of this series that we inhabit that once someone is dead, magic can not interfere. Isn't that convenient?" Dumbledore smiled. And he went down to Draco's body and brought him back to life. Yay.

--

Awful, huh? Yeah, we know. Anyway, here's where YOU come in, if you really want to read any more…

Click that sexy little review button right down there, and in that review, we want you to direct where you want this story's true cliché to go. Your choices BE:

-CROSSOVER TIME: Babysitters Club + Holes. (Help from Starsies and Pippage, because we know you love them so much)

OR

-Harry becomes a kleptomaniac (randomly), and everyone decides to go to CHICKEN, ALASKA for a FIELD TRIP!

You decide the path, we'll direct our own butts.

Hugs, Love, and much Smooches,

Kyle Melavowig and Rudolph Rhinehardt  
Cliche Busters, Inc.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chicken, Alaska: A Field Trip

A completely unanticipated and unannounced field trip was in order. What a lovely surprise for Ron Weasley.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" he said.

Everyone looked at him funny.

"WHAT ARE YOU YAYING ABOUT?" said Everyone.

"I DUNNO!" Ron retorted.

"Children, settle down." Dumbledore said. Everyone looked up and then went back to talking and staring at Ronald funny. "SILENCE, FIENDS!"

"YEAH DUMBLEDORK! YOU TELL 'EM!" screamed an intoxicated Rubeus. Hagrid. Ahem.

"In celebration of Draco Malfoy's tragic death and cliché'd rebirth, we are taking a field trip… Not to the usual Disney World, but to CHICKEN!"

"…Like the nuggets?" Ashley asked. Everyone howled in unwarranted laughter.

"I wish I were that pretty…" sighed Harry. He reached over and grabbed a diamond out of Hermione's suddenly wealthy pocket. She felt nothing, because she is a _vague_ person.

Harry smiled. Stealing from RICHGRRL!Hermoine was fu-un. He looked over at Ron. _Now, how to get my klepto!Harry hands on Ron's NachoLibre-inspired STRETCHY PANTS…_

"No, no, Ashley, not the nuggets! CHICKEN…AAAAALASKA!" Dumbledore said, then added, "And thanks for last night."

"Anytime, Dumbly-Boogle..." Ashley winked. "And what in the name of all that is greasy is ALASKA?"

"I thought you were an American exchange student!" Ron said, fingering the hem of his stretchy pants nervously.

"I am, Ronaldo darling."

"Then how did you not know what Alaska is?" Ron asked, blushing for no reason.

"Because, Ron," Ashley heaved a sigh, "Alaska does NOT exist!"

"But you knew what it was?" Ron asked.

"NO! I'm so excited to go to Alaska, how about you?" Ashley said.

Just then, they realized that Ashley was a goldfish, and that her 3 second memory kept her from doing or saying anything intelligent.

At all.

"So…how bout them Yankees?" Ron asked, imagining himself as a champion LUCHADOR.

"What's a Yankee?" Ashley asked.

Just then, a large Thing (capitalized for effect-this IS descriptive writing) dropped onto her head and knocked her out!

"Bark! Bark!" It said (EFFECT! DESCRIPTIVE! HOLY BISCUITS!).

Ron looked left and right.

Harry looked left and right, taking this FINE opportunity to steal his STRETCHY PANTS. Now he, and only he, would be the world-champion LUCHADOR! And, while we're at it, he could buy some SWEET recreational clothes with his winnings.

Getting back to the Thing, it just so happened to be Balto and all of his animated sled dog friends!...Along with a really big sled.

"OOOOH! OUR RIDE!" Dumbledore screeched, lifting up his skirts- er, robes- ever so daintily and skipping over to get the best seat- The Front.

"OH, LOOK, A WHIP!" he cried, reaching over the handles to retrieve a long black… whip. He cracked it. Well, he attempted to, anyway, and ended up throwing it behind his back and giving the slowly recovering Ashley a _really_ attractive black eye.

She was mobbed by Draco, Ron, Harry, Seamus, Neville, Rubeus, Hermione, Crabbe, Fred, Oliver, George, Voldemort, Tom, James, Larry the Cable Guy, Sirius, Remus, Snape, Peter, Fenrir, Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Blaise, Pansy, Nearly Headless Nick, Ghandi, Nacho Libre, Winston Churchill, Goyle, and Mrs. Norris. Everyone else who isn't important did nothing, because no one likes background characters.

No one.

Dumbledore, immune to her Mary-Sueish charms for five minutes, cried pearlescent tears.

Of angst.

"I JUST WANTED TO CRACK THAT WHIP…Just like DEVO did…Say, Harry, you still into that crack stuff?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH, A CHEESY LINE…!

Balto looked back at the mob. "Y'all fixin' to hitch up, er… What?"'

Ashley became fascinated by the talking dawg (heh), and since she is extremely popular, so did everyone else. She hopped aboard the Leviathan of a sled (so did everyone else) and off they went.

Well, sort of.

Just kidding.

--

So now, here they are in Chicken, Alaska. Everyone except the background characters. They never get to enjoy a nice field trip.

"WHY DON'T WE EVER GET TO ENJOY A NICE FIELD TRIP?" Background Cast Member No. 5 yelled. No one heard him. It's like that proverbial tree in the forest.

A/N: You know, God kills a kitten every time you authors don't let your background characters go on a field trip.

You knew, didn't you? SO WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? DO YOU HAVE NO COMPASSION FOR THE TINY WARRIOR FELINES OF THE NORTH? OR THE SOUTH? OR THE VEGETARIANS, you know, those tree hugger kittens.

Ahem.

A/N…over and out.

Chicken, Alaska will never be the same after this one.

The Suddenly Pretty Makeover!Hermoine walked around. All the Inuits wished their girlfriends were HAWT like her.

A/N: You know God kills a vegetarian every time Hermione gets a makeover?

MAY THE BLOOD OF 897 VEGETARIANS BE ON YOUR HEADS! You know what the punishment for veggie-homicide is?

Being impaled by a projectile of our choice.

TODAY IT IS CORN ON A STICK.

MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOULS!

A/N…OUT.

"So… What do we do now?" Ashley asked, staring down an Inuit. And envying his sealskin parka. So much envy, in fact, that she needed a favor. Not just any favor. A klepto!Harry-esque sort of favor.

"Have I ever told you that I'd look really H-A-W-T in… that thing?" she asked Harry, pointing at the parka.

"No," Harry replied.

Ashley took a step closer to him, MAKING SURE HER WARM BREATH COULD BE FELT ON HIS CREAMY SKIN. SENSUALLY. "Well, you know, Harry… I would. And you're just the man to get it for me. And I'll even let you put it on… This," She said, motioning to her own body. "Man. Get. This." She said. SENSUALLY.

Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

Harry walked up to said Inuit. Said Inuit (henceforth know as Jeff) was icefishing. Peacefully. Unsuspective-like. Just the way Harry liked 'em.

Harry reached forward. Slowly. Slowly. THEN QUICKLY! Then sloooooowly… Then he stopped. And did the chicken dance, because what better dance was there to fit the occasion? And then he stopped. His hand inched forward… He touched the seal skin parka. The seal skin parka touched him. It gave him feelings he himself could not understand.

So then He took the parka off Jeff's back (with a gallant "STOLE'D!") and gave it to Ashley. Who wasn't interested in it anymore.

"Goldfishz R fo loozrz," Harry said inwardly, and went to sit by Jeff. Who was dead. Because Harry done stole'd his parka.

A/N: Every time you steal a parka, God kills Jeff.

Jeff had two kids! A WIFE! Two wives, actually (Muslim Inuit colony, y'know). One was named Nancy. She made a mean sealskin pie. The other one had no known name. She was a background character. Psssh.

A/N…IN!

A/N…OOT (Happy Canadian Appreciation Day, Eh?)!

Just then (we know, WTF, right?), the Australians attacked. Their fierce volleys of boomerangs and kangaroo Mounties were too much for the sealskin'd Inuits and the visiting Hogwarts students.

However, the brave Inuits made a speedy snow fort and pelted snowballs at the Aussie's weak side. The Aborigines, clad in only loincloths, couldn't handle it… The crystalline spheres spelled their doom.

An all out attack was waged, and a cloud of out-of-place dust, upturned snow, and sealskin rose over the battlefield.

But over the cloud rose a hero… And that hero thine's name was Harry. But you know him better… as John Wayne. (That's right, kids…)

And then everyone went home.

Except Jeff. Jeff die'd.

THE END.

--

Alright, your next set of choices…

UNBACKGROUND'D!Seamus and Neville plot to take over the world… But first, Hogwarts.

Or

Hogwarts has a dance, a talent show, a play, and a battle of the bands. And a karaoke bar in Hogsmeade.

PS- If you noticed our spontaneous cross-referencing to Nacho Libre… we saw it earlier tonight. Good movie.

…IT'S OVER!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Battle of the Bands, Dancers, Karaoke Enthusiasts, Actors, and Talent Show-ists

DISCLAIMER'D: WE HAVE NO CLUE WHERE MOST OF THIS CAME FROM. Sorry.

A Stardust Silver 2007 Hyundai Entourage Limited with 22-inch spinners (this is descriptive writing) rolled up to Chicken, Alaska's one and only parking lot, with room for two cars. And a sleigh. Its chrome exterior and interior garnishes gleamed in the bright sun. Its heat-rejecting solar-control glass was useless, however, seeing as how the Alaskan winters provide little heat to reject. Its "Limited" exterior badge had been ripped off in Detroit, however, leaving a black mark on the otherwise flawless surface.

The seven foreground characters jumped into the wood-grain interior trim'd SUV.

"Ooh! Heated front seats!" Ashley exclaimed, commandeering shotgun because she IS Ashley, and she get what she wants. Balto wagged his bushy tail, sitting to her left, one paw resting on the tilt steering wheel right next to the cruise control button. He donned some sweet aviator shades, cause he is rock.

"Everyone ready back therr?" he asked suppishly.

"N… No…" Draco called from the very back. The tailgate. However, the interior was so spacious that no one could hear him. He couldn't buckle his tailgate belt, because behind Hermione's back he had started cutting again… this time his palms. Because his wrists are too flippin' pretty.

Balto revved the engine and shot forward, through a snow ditch, over a dead Aborigine, and eventually onto a ramp, adequately labeled 'X-Treme Ramp'd'.

"EHMAGAW!" Ashley screeched as the huge ramp approached (or, you know, they all got…closer…to it), but her cries of fear were overpowered by Balto's supreme Suppishness.

As they launch'd off the ramp, 5 zillion feet in the atmosphere, they froze at the peak of their jump and in time, just long enough for Dumbledore to sing-in falsetto- a phrase of elation. "EXTREME HYUNDAI!"

And then the sweet Matrix thing went all…Matrix. The Stardust Silver Entourage began plummeting to the earth. All plummet-y. Doin' some rockin' 360's. Cause Balto was drivin. And he is rock.

They landed right in front of Hogwartz (stopping for about an hour at a mid-air Chuck E. Cheese's for pizza, fun, and ski-ball), crash landing and burning to bitz.

…Just kiddin'. 'Cept for the Chuck E. Cheese part.

That one was fo' rizzle.

Anyway, they landed placidly in a way of grace that put prima ballerinas to shame.

A/N: Every time prima ballerinas are shame'd, God destroys a ping pong table. Today it was Rudy's. By the method of a certain FRIEND OF RUDY'S SISTER JUMPING ON TOP OF IT. God's wrath is bettereth than thinez. And it is upon ye.

Get ye flask.

A/N: Oot.

Everyone filed out of the well-parked car (although Rubeus's grassy knoll was a little destroy'd…) and skipped into Hogwartz hand-in-hand. It was all… touchy-feely. Ashley liked touchy-feely. And Ron decided he did, too.

…BUT!

There lay Draco, in the back of the tailgate. He done gone and done die'd. Because of Balto's reckless (yet rock) driving. But no one care'd. Cuz he done be a tormented soul.

And Hermy iz too RICHGRRL fo' dat schtuff.

Once everyone got themselves into the great hall, Dumbledore decided it was time.

"IT…IS…TIIIIIIIIME…" he bellowed. Then he sat, wanting to give an impression of a nice dinner party with all the students. He put on a dressing robe and lit a pipe, and began discussing The Hunt. For he done gone and been English, and he done gone and loved The Hunt.

Then he really decided it was tiiiiiiime.

"NOW…IT…IS…ACTUALLY…TIIIIIIIIIME…" he re-bellow'd. "ALL KITTENS HAVE DONE GONE BEEN DESTROY'D!"

Hermione cried pearlescent tears…

…Of angst.

Ron tried to touch his tongue to his eyelashes. Which were long and LUSTROUS. Ashley BURNED with ENVY.

"Shut up, guys, it's time." Crackhead!Dumbledore announced. Again.

"Huh?" DEAD!Draco asked from Beyond. But we were only joshin' when we said all that. Draco isn't dead. He's pretty.

Pretty alive.

"CLOSE YOUR IGNORANT QUADRATUS LABII SUPERIOROUSES!" DOCTAH!Dumbledore commanded. "IT IS FRAPPING TIME. Time that I would rather not waste. I mean, really, I could be using it to get a mani-pedi." He looked around nervously. "OBLIVIATE!" he continued, "Hogwartz is hosting a super-fun week of idiocy!"

Ron cheered. Alone. And he stayed that way for the rest of eternity.

A/N: When Ron is left alone, with no Ron!love, God kills a golden retriever. And now Rudy's dawg is dead.

A/N from Roodz: DAMN YOU ALL! MY POOR PUPPY!

_looks at said poor puppy_ Odd, looks strangely alive.

DAMN YOU ALL FOR KILLING MY DOG AND THEN PLAYING THESE MIND GAMES WITH ME!

A/N o' angst: OOOOT.

A/N: Oot.

As Ron's awkward cheering faded away into muffled sobs, Dumbledore continued his announcement. "Anyway, said week of idiocy will be composed of a Talent Show on Tuesday (known as Talent Tuesday!), a Battle of da Bandz on Wednesday (known as BoB Wednesday!), another FIELD TRIP to Hogsmeade for karaoke in the Hog's Head on Thursday night (we can't think of a clever name for this one…), and a play (Romeo and Juliet, of course) on Friday nizzle. Fo shizzle."

Ashley stood. "I CALL JULIET!"

No one argued.

Ashley sat, a charismatic smirk on her pearlescent lipz…

…of angst.

Dumbledore waited to see if she felt like interrupting anymore, because Mary Sues can be as impolite as they feel. Fo rizzle. Anyhoodles- "And one last… thingy…"

The crowd went silent. Even though they already were. Then Ron said "ANTICIPATIONNNN…!" because he felt the need to.

"Tonight… To kick off week o' Idiocy… Hogwartz will host… it's first ANNUAL…-"

**-And now, a word from our sponsors.-**

**Tired of Mouth Strain?**

**Sick of not being able to jam 68 marshmallows in your mouth at one time?**

**THEN COME PLAY HOCKEY!**

**Between the frequent icing fouls and all the fantastic fights, YOU TOO CAN HAVE A BROKEN JAW!**

**Let's take a minute to hear from our satisfied customers.**

"**I used to be able to open my mouth a measly 3 inches. Now, because of HOCKEY, I can rotate the joint a full 180 degrees!" -Jeff.**

"**I play hockey. It's nice, cause my wooden teeth used to bother me so, grinding all grindy-like. However, thanks to HOCKEY, they no longer touch! I can pull my jaw entirely off of my face now. Thanks, HOCKEY!"-President George Xavier Washington**

**--/0--**

**Do you live in a cardboard box?**

**Are your only pieces of furniture lintballs?**

**Is your only friend the garbage truck?**

**Well, you're screwed.**

**ARE YOU FILTHY RICH?**

**Do you wipe your butt with 50 dollar bills?**

**Are your toupees more expensive than most people's cars?**

**THEN COME TO THE LAND OF PROSPER!**

**We have bigger closets in our houses than the TAIPEI 101!**

**Our yards are CANADA.**

**And our pools are the crystalline waters of the Indian Ocean!**

**And for a mere 6,000,000 dollars per blade of grass, you too can live in luxury.**

…**We'll even throw in a sweet pair of 14 karat gold-thread gauntlets. Conduct your bands in stizz-yle. Word.**

**-/0-**

"**Oh, SALLY! Your eyelashes are SO long and lustrous. ALLOW ME TO MAKE OUT WITH YOU!" Johnny exclaimed.**

"**What? I'm a cancer patient. I just got chemo, and now I HAVE NO EYELASHES." Sally said.**

"**But, Sally, you and your golden flax of hair are so attractive." John swooned.**

**No, really, he did. **

**BECAUSE OF EVERYONE'S FAVORITE-**

**Father Floggin's Giant Flask O' BEER! This flask carries three and a quarter gallons of Father Floggin's finest brew.**

**Father Floggin brews the beer in the basement of his monastery. Don't worry, though, it contains not a single trace of METH!**

**-Cut to Father Floggin-**

"**Ye may be havin' a grandeth ol' party, but until a young knight shows up with MY BEER, it is just not the sameth." Father motions to a factory-esque looking structure with a steeple and a stained glass window depicting a fat monk drinking. "We use only the finest hops, water, barley, and pre-owned kettles."**

**DISCLAIMER: The previous owners of said kettles may have been meth producers. We only say that cause our danged lawyers made us.**

**-Cut to John and Sally-**

**Sally turns to the camera, leaving John in mid-snog position and says, "GET YE FLASK!"**

**And now, back to the show!**

Dumbledore rubbed his head. "Why do I feel like I just got in a hockey fight, bought a mansion, and drank an entire flask of Father Floggin's?"

"Cuz u just gawt commercial BREAK'D!" said Seamus.

"Shut up, backgroundie," Harry snarled. Ooh, Emo.

"Anyway, as I was saying, TONIGHT IS THE DANCE PARTAY!" Dumbledore said. "You has one hours to get youself hawt for the par-tay."

Ashley glanced over in Hermione's direction. Since Ashley was already perfect-looking, she might as well get all make-y over-y on someone else…

A/N: DEAD VEGETARIAN!

A/N 00t.

W00t w00t.

HA!

But seriously, A/N out.

BACK IN THE GRYFFINDOR COMMON WOMB… I MEAN ROOM.

Hermione was sitting by the fire, all peaceful like. Just the way Ashley liked 'em.

"Oh, I'm so RICHGRRL, but really, I'm just mediocre enough to have doubts about whether I'll get asked to dance or not…"

That was just vague enough to actually work, because she's a vague person, but Ashley would see none of it without first getting all make over-y.

…What's with the wombs and the ovaries?

EEW!

Ahem.

A/N: Use a condom every time. Kids, this is serious.

A/N and your seventh grade health teacher, OOT.

"Well, Hermione…" Ashley whispered into Hermione's ear (anyone ever notice Mary Sues be touchy-feely with EVERYONE…?). "It seems to me a little make-to-the-over is in order. Come on… Come with me," she breathed, taking a step closer and grabbing Hermione's hand.

Hermione questioned her sexuality.

As did everyone else.

"What the crap?" said all the guys who had done her sometime since her arrival.

"I swing both ways," Ashley announced.

"With what?" all the first years asked.

Ron covered his fly.

"…A… a baseball bat," said the girl, clueless as to what the big frickin' deal was. "I'm ambidextrous. Both left handed and right handed pitchers fear my power."

She looked around. No one was fearing.

"FEAR MY POWER!"

Hermione started inching away. "Uhh…"

Suddenly, Kyle Melavowig decided to breathe in REALLY HARD through his nose, and was taken over by a fit of booger-choking.

AND NOW A WORD FROM ROODZ.

**Kyle is a disgusing underclassman. I suppose I only allow myself to write with him out of pity. Sheer, sheer pity. My refined, world-traveled soul (all the way to Wisconsin, ladies) hurts from just looking at his dweeby, grinning features.**

**Why the crap am I letting my sister go out with this FREAK?**

**Roodz, Out.**

**A/N from Kyle: **

**YOURR GOINGG OUTT WITHH MEE.**

**(He giggles. His pubescent voice cracks. Ha.)**

**A/N from Rudy:**

**My voice no longer cracks. However, there was a time I could hit a high C without being kicked in the family jewels by a ticked-off girl. Falsetto sucks. Except for when you're like, "X-TREME HYUNDAI!"**

**A/N, be out, G.**

"GET IT AWAAAAAEEEEE…" Harry screeched.

Quoth Ron: "But, but, Harry, don't you remember our love from the 450 slash fics depicting our romps?"

"Well, I was young and reckless, Ron. And I'm SURE FATHER FLOGGINS has SOMETHING to do with it!"

"Well, maybe." Ron said.

"Now, I've moved on since that one creative writer put me with Draco, Lucius, Rubeus, Sirius (dead), Snape, Remus, and Mrs. Norris." Harry said. "And now I'm in love with George. Or maybe Fred. You can never tell."

"Well, you know, Fred has that birthmark right next to his-"

Fred and George yelled "CAN IT, BILIUS."

"Oh, I remember that." Harry said, SENSUALLY!

Ashley was infuriated. "SHUT UP SO WE CAN GET ON WITH SAID MAKEOVER!"

Oh yeah, about that.

They went off into their dorm, and signed up Hermione for Extreme Makeover: Hermione Edition.

"NOW FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRSHT!" Ashley screeched with an odd accent, plopping Hermione into a random salon chair in front of a huge, gaudy, mirror-and-light covered, Barbie Doll pink vanity that had always been there, but never written about in the HP Bookses.

A/N: Sorry, I need to kick Gollum offa my keyboard.

He just called me a stupid hobbitses. Am I now plural?

Kyle: I dunno. Maybe you are.

Rudy: Shut it. Go away, Gollum.

Kyle: But I'm spending the night at your house. I'm not going till tomorrow.

Rudy: Blast.

Kyle: ROCKET SHIPZ!

Rudy: …_is not pleased_Oh, wait, we're going to need backup for this. We have no idea how to execute a makeover.

Kyle: Where the crap is Kara?

Rudy: Or, more importantly, Danae.

Kyle: What? No, Kara.

Rudy: Danae's prettier.

Kyle: GIRLFRIEND FIGHT!

Rudy: No.

Kyle: Kara is prettier and…and…and… SMAAARTEEEER… and, and, um… MORE PROLIFIC…

Rudz: You don't even know what that means. Are you saying you've got her pregnant? Cause, BOY, if you have…

Kyle: _Thesaurus'd_ IT WORKS! AS CREATIVE!

Roodz: Good. But, you still don't know what it means. Anyway. Let's just get both of them. Go across the street and get them.

Kyle: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! _skips away_

Rudy: QUICK! WHILE HE'S GONE! The other night I found Kyle's diary. Okay, so this is sad that he HAS one to begin with. But anyway. Secret numbah one: He wishes his hair was as pretty as Penelope Cruz's. And long and lustrous. Secret Numbah nineteen: Kyle stole my whistle. It's like my son. He WILL pay. Secret numbah thirty-one: Kyle prefers whitey tighties, but is too worried about image to wear them. I myself prefer man thongs. JUST KIDDING.

Kyle: _reads_ HEEEEEEEEEEEEY… Hey, Rudz, leave for a sec.

Rudz: No.

Danae: …I think man thongs is hawt.

Rudz: REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY?

Danae: No. Now, seriously, leave.

Rudz: _starry eyed_ 'Kay.

Kyle: PSST! He really DOES wear man thongs.

Kara: THAT EXPLAINS A LOT.

Kyle: Like what?

Kara: Like how he never gets boxer wrinkles under the trousers for marching band.

Danae: _shudder_ Uggh.

Rudy: _comes back in _Can I be back, Danae-Wanae? _Reads _WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOLDEN?

Kyle: I love you, man.

Danae: I dunno if I do.

Kara: Mr. Man-thong.

Rudy: But baby, it's all just a LIE.

Kara and Kyle: Eew.

Ahem. So, here's Kyle and Rudy, trying to retain some shred of dignity and manliness. Anyway, Kara and Danae are takin' over MAKE OVAH PATROOOL.

A/N: Oot

Ashley fumbled around with some safety scissors. "So, what are you thinking for your hair?"

Hermione tapped her chin. "Hmm… Probably something short and cropped… probably some bangs…"

Ashley slapped her upside da headd. "NO BANGS! NO SHORT! LONG AND LUSTROOOUUUUUSSSSS!"

Kyle, off screen, pouted.

Hermione's lower lip quivered. She made a pitiful noise, and the best way I can spell it is like sizz-o: MMMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE…D!

Ashley paid no attention to her feelings. Which was hurt'd (TRY TO SAY IT AND WEEP!). She got out her hair straightener, which probably ran somewhere around $450 at Sephora, $20 on eBay, and free in the garbage (pardon the MidWesturns), and… um… straightened Hermione's hair. Then she gave her natural blonde highlights. She slapped on some dark scarlet lipstick that made her lips pop… or so she read. Hermione still looked freakin' amazing.

Ashley opened up the latest issue of "OMFG PRTTY GRRL 'ZINE" and turned to the 'I-BALLZ' page. On it was a picture of a model with some sick fake lashes. No, really. They were green.

Ashley decided this was a magnificent route to take. They would look grand with a pound of I-LINR and a metric ton of powder foundation, two shades darker than Hermione's actual skin.

So, basically, after adding the weight of a newborn whale to Hermione's face, she decided it was thyme 4 a dwess.

And this would be no ordinary dwess.

In fact, this wasn't gonna be much of a dress at all.

Ashley took out a roll of thick blue ribbon. She cut a strip just long enough to go around Hermione's bust. And that was the top.

She rummaged through Ron's trunk, and since it was laundry day, all his lacy, semi-transparent thongs were gone.

Rudy, off screen, puffed out his chest and took one for the team. He ran back to his underwear drawer and pulled out his pride and joy.

For the story, he sacrificed. Go Roodz.

Ashley took the pink translucent G-String thong and sling shot'd it at Hermione. The lace caught in her hair, and Hermione pinched the two square centiMETRES of material. She pulled it out of her 'do with a grimace. "Is this Rooooooooooooon's?"

"No."

"Oh, okay!" she squealed, and slipped them on her SILKY… MILKY… CREAMY BUTT. SENSUALLY.

Oh Lord.

A/N:

Look, guys, this is when we stop and question things.

Just like Hermione earlier.

But not.

Look, really.

No.

A/N: OOT.

Part One: OOT!

HA HA. YOU GOTTA READ TWO PARTZ.

But, seriously, this is really long, and, um… There's a heck of a lot more to come.

LOVE YOU GUYS!

-Melavohoodlez

-Rhinehizzlez


	4. Chapter 4: It's really Crap

The proceeding chaptor is numbah fizzour in possibly the best worst written series of all time.

Or would it be the worst best series?

Or the best baddest chicken pie this side of Saint Louis???

I think we're going with numbah three there.

Chicken pie is ah may zing.

No, really.

SO! On with chappy four!!!

Or, if you really wanna get technical, chapter 3 part DEUX!

Posters of Billy Idol with his signature smirk lined the walls of the room Ron was inhabiting. He studied them and turned to the mirror. "Stupid, stuuuuupid lip…" He tried to sneer. However, his charming red hair and freckles made it impossible. SO! He pulled out a washbasin and the toilet bowl bleach. He filled the former with the latter and stuck his head in.

NOW HE WAS SUPER COOL! He sneered with the best of them, like Kyle when he tickles Rudy's very sensitive butt with his feetses. Yeah, it does sound really gay.

I don't like Kyle either.

JUST KIDDING!

Now, back to Chuck Norris. No, wait, Ron. No, Billy Idol. BAAAH.

As he walked down the stairs, still sneering, Ashley looked up at him. Her dress, coordinating with Hermione's, shimmered in the candlelight. But 'twas not as shimmery as Ron's gleaming sneer.

AND NOW, A QUICK BREAK!

Billy Idol: To get my signature sneer white and sparkling, I use COLGATE TOTAL! With its deep cleaning power and long lasting freshness, I can sneer all day!

Vanilla Ice: Me too!

Janet Jackson: The radiation from my brother is enough to keep mine white.

Michael: I RESENT THAT!

Colgate Guy: As you can see, Colgate uses essence of Michael to keep our patients' smiles sparklin' like the midnight sun.

Kyle: Did I seriously just write 'the midnight sun'?

WTF.

Rudy: Yeah, most people call that "The Moon," fartface.

Kyle: Ess tee eff you.

We're bringing sexy back!

Back…to the story!

The dance was postponed until Wednesday. Hermione was forced to wear her dress until then by Ashley. Haha. So, in the meantime, there was…A TALENT SHOOOOOOW. As schedule'd.

It was held in the Great Hall, because flying buttresses were there. Snape was so totally first it wasn't even funny.

"For my first act," he was all like. "I will pull a rabbit out of my top hat!"

Some first year in the front row was all, "Dude, I can pull a mastodon out of my sock. You're a freakin' wizard."

The potions prof. tugged his collar. As if that would really make things better. "Yeah… yeah… um, well, I'll, uh… saw Mrs. McGonagall in half!"

Something big, juicy, and purple hit the side of his face. It was… a plum.

"Alright. Now, here's something no one in this entire audience can do…" He ripped off his robe, revealing a red and black corset. It was really quite attractive. If you're into a lot of pale skin, dark back hair and… um… sagginess. He then proceeded to rock oh-so very skankily over to the Head Table.

"Happy BIIIRTHDAAAAY, Mr. Headmaster…" he sang, undoing the top of his corset. Everyone screamed bloody-freakin' homicide, 'cept for Hermione cuz she sawed all that schtuff in all those grotesque Snape/'Mione fix… And Ashley, cause she's seen everyone in their nuddy pantz.

"That's… um… Nice…" Dumbledore said, then got up, spanked Snape into a corner, and came back out to the middle of the stage. "So, anyway, Hagrid's got some serious skills to show you…"

Hagrid came riding out on a really tiny crotch rocket, balancing both plates and baby alligators. It was really kind of cool. See, the plates were all stacky-'d up on his nose, then he had a pile of baby 'gators all… Up in dat… and it was just friggin' sweet.

Seamus was next. He attempted comedy. But he failed. Kind of like us on this chapter.

Then came Ashley, who was breaking the rules of idiocy week by being in every single competition there was even though you could only be in one competiton and all that stuff, but no one cared.

She did a really awkward impersonation of Britney Spears. She first crawled around like a little baby, to represent Britney's childhood, then she started some serious tap dancing. Then she started singing, and stripped down into a little school girl outfit. Then she opted for the tight red pleather body suit and sang 'Oops, I Did It Again' in about five different keys. Then she started really sluttin' it up for her newest album, Britney, and did this crack job of 'Slave Fo' U'. Then she got married to some guy no one had ever heard of. Then she either came out with a CD no one bought or married K-Fed, I'm not sure which. Then she got knocked up and then got a divorce. Leaving her a single mother of sixteen, one of which she took care of and the other 15 that no one knew about but Kyle.

…Uh…

Don't get too far into that.

Anyway, Ashley's victory was certain. I mean, really, how do you compete with red pleather?

Everyone kinda…mingled out of the Great Hall and into bed, PREPARING FOR WEDNESDAY, AKA…TOMORROW.

ON WEDNESDAY:

500 watt floodlights flooded…the stage…with…light. Some were red. Some were white. And one was focused on the face of a star. A Rock star…thine name thou art Balto.

"WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?"

The crowd of dancing fiends not involved in the battle of the bands screamed "WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO?"

Behind the red velour curtain, the Morton High School Marching Band was preparing.

"DETAIL, ATTEN-HUT!"

"HUT!" The band bellowed.

"From the top!" The drum major began conducting. GUESS WHOOOO THE DRUM MAJOR WUZ?

ROOOOODZ!

Dag, yo, dat one fyyyyne piece of arse on dat dwum majah. Whoooeeee.

Suddenly, Rudy remembered! No one in England knew enough about marching band to know…

Pyrotechnics is against da rulez.

So, after Balto's rendition of the Baja Men's smash hit before the turn of the century, the marching band lined up. The floor turned into a football field.

"This isn't a futbol field!" all the Brits chorused.

"YES IT IS!" Ashley screeched.

"Mmkay," the Ashley fanclub, AKA the entire student body of Hogwarts, said.

The Morton High School Marching Band, 2006 Class AA Illinois State Champions, marched out on to the field. AND THEN!

Nothing happened.

AND THEN!

FIREWORKS!

SHOOTING STARS!

THE DRUMLINE!

Needless to say, the astounding drill and beautiful arrangements threw the poor, weak Brits back on their butts!

Or, as the French would say, "DERRIERES!"

As the band left the field and it turned…MAGICALLY…back into a dance floor, all the kids were signing up for band camp this summer cause they wanted to see Roodz and his washboard abs in action again.

But then.

Out of the shadows of a flying buttress.

Flew'd Kyle.

He soared above the crowd and swooped lower, so gracefully as if by magic. (HMM!)

But that isn't what made the crowd gasp in shock.

For Kyle… Was streaking the daylights out of that dance.

He landed on the floor and the crowd parted for him and all his glory. He pranced gracefully through the crowd, turning circles in the full nude. As he passed by Ashley, he slowed and winked, only to carry on his merry streaking way. She giggled and blushed.

That boy was freakin' sexy.

So he left and everyone shuffled around awkwardly, until Ron stepped onto the stage. The lights went low. He looked over the crowd in all his bleach-blond splendor and spotted who he was looking for: His dance partner. He called Ashley up onto the stage. As she walked towards him, a stripper!pole slid up out of the ground.

SENSUALLY.

He helped her up and led her to the pole. Then… the music started.

"I'M BRINGIN' SEXY BACK…" Ron began. The crowd went psycho. Ashley was doing this uber risqué number on the stripper pole, Ron was getting' his groove on, and the kids in the audience was wishin' them girlfriends was hawt like her.

So, after putting all other dancers ever…EVAH to shame, Ashley and Ron parted, and the party commenced.

OVAH BY THE PUNCH BIZZOWL…

Quoth Snape: "So, Sir Nicholas, you come here often?"

The almost decapitated ghost walked…flew?...glided away, and Snape chased after him, screaming such things as "BUT WE COULD MAKE IT WORK!" and "I DON'T MIND THE COLD SENSATION!"

Meanwhile, Hermione was partyin' it up with her homeskillets, Lashawnda and Jaqulenique. They was so hip it made everyone jealous. Everyone, except for the next rock star to enter the scene.

Chuck Norris. He pulled out a vintage guitar and sat on a wooden barstool, hat pulled low over his eyes.

"_Oh I'm in love with a muffin…_

_And it is so good to me…_

_I'm in love with a muffin…_

_Wouldn't you like to be?"_

Lyrics Copyright Kyle Melavowig, 2006

After this soulful rendition of an old classic, Chuck bowed and was about to leave the stage when…

"BOO! YOU STINK!" was heard from some insolent little brat in the mosh pit.

"What?" Chuck questioned.

"Oh, you heard me," said the unfortunate soul who would soon be meeting the wrath of…

CHUCK NORRIS. A roundhouse kick to the already ugly face of that punk caused him some serious brain damage, fo sho.

The announcer for the night, Flava Flav, came out and looked at his necklace/clock. "YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?"

"Uh," all the uninformed Brits without Vh1 access on a regular basis said uncertainly.

"WELL, YOU FOOLS, IT'S TIME FOR THE WINNERZ!"

The crowd cheered. Even the Brits could understand this sentence.

The bands all lined up on the stage. Balto snubbed his nose at the crowd, Rudy did an amazing salute and successfully tossed his mace about ninety zillion feet into the air, and Chuck…just was, cause he is Chuck Norris.

Dumbledore staggered out. His breath, if you were within 15 feet of him, smelled of gin and beer. He hiccupped. "THE WINNER OF THIS YEARS…YEAR'S…haha, melon ballers…potato salad…YEAR'S BATTLE OF THE BANDS IS…"

"ANTICIPATIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!" the crowd screeched.

"FATHER FLOGGIN'S!!" Dumbledore said.

"What?" pretty much everyone said.

The 135-member MHS Marching Band killed Dumbledore and used his spectacles as a coffee table in their trophy room.

Just kidding.

"KYLE MELAVOWIG!!!"

"…" did not say the crowd.

"I know what you're all thinking…"-hiccup-"…he may not have actually been IN a band… or made any music… at all… but if you really think about it, that boy has made more contributions to this night than any of you."

Dumbledore then was Chuck Norris'd.

And Chuck Norris won. Twice. Don't ask how or why, just know that he is Chuck Norris.

And hush.

Hogsmeade, a prime terrorist target, was (unbeknownst to its residents) under surveillance by the fearsome COBRA agency. That one guy with no hair and really big biceps was watching the 42" plasma in his terrorist control agency room, right next to his living room, which his wife had decorated in a lovely southwestern motif.

He didn't like it.

He only liked camoflauge. And snakes. And chrome. Which, by the way, those three look really nice together.

SO. He was watching the SURVEILLANCE PLASMA TV in his room and he saw the opportunity of a lifetime. The security, usually so tight around the holidays, was slacking. SO!

NUCLEAR WARHEAD'D! But the only thing, conveniently, that was DECIMATED!!! was the Three Broomsticks, where the Karaoke Bar Night was supposed to be. So Kyle and Rudy, TOTALLY INCIDENTALLY, didn't have to write about it, and they were okay with this cause it was going to sound a lot like that battle of the bands anyway.

Which, we know, sucked some serious ass.

Then Kyle, because he had some sort of wicked head cold and was wearing Kara's PJ pantz and eating crushed eyes, took over directing the play.

Which was totally going to be wicked, fo rizzle, cuz Kyle's really good with all that romance crap.

"ASHLEY'S JULIET, HARRY IS ROMEO, AND RON IS TYBALT. I DON'T KNOW ANY OF THE OTHERS IN THE PLAY, AND I'M NOT GOING TO SIT AROUND WASTING MY THYME ON PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW ABOUT IN THE FIRST PLACE. I KNOW RUDY'S GONNA COME IN HERE FROM GETTING HIS CAFFEINE KICK BE LIKE, 'WELL THERE'S SO-AND-SO AND SO-AND-SO THAT YOU FORGOT, AND LIKE…' BUT STOP THERE, RUDY, BECAUSE THIS IS MY PLAY AND IMA GET MY ACT ON."

So stick it there.

Rudy slammed his head on the computer desk, groaned, and took another sweet, sweet swig of Pepsi One.

Stupid One-calorie-er.

Rudy: You're jealous of mine abs.

I'm not jealous of his abz.

Rudy: Lying is fo loozrz.

SHOVE IT RUDZ.

Anyway, since Kyle never lies, he got the play ready in one day. He took a 2-3 hour play and turned it into a total of five minutes, because he knows nothing about Romeo and Juliet.

So.

Friday came 'long.

And that was cool.

THE CAST WAS ALL NERVOUS, CEPT FOR ASHLEY CAUSE SHE WAS BUSY READING 'OMFG PRTTY GRRL 'ZINE'. And Kyle, because he was knocked out from a high dose of Nyquil. For his pounding head cold. And face pain.

Poor, poor Kyle.

Rudy: Is a pansy.

ISN'T a pansy.

So…anyway…the curtain, lyke, oooopennnnn'd, and lyke, the propz were lyke all PRTTY N STUFF, n lyke, the costumes were all gorgey cause Ashley made them.

They were thongs.

…The girls had ribbon, too. Gees, what kind of school do you think those people were running?

"ROMEO… ROMEO… WHERE FOR ART THOU ROMEO?" Ashley was all like.

"Over here…!" Harry was all like.

Quoth Tybalt, aka Ron: "I'ma… sword fight… you."

"LYKE WHOA!" Harry was all lyke.

So they sword foughted. And I think somebody die'd. But I don't… know.

So something about 'What's in a name' and a rose… And sweetness…

And then there was something about the Capulets and the Montagues… in a feud.

And everyone was all emo'd, and then something about poison and lipz… And makey-outey with a 'dead' girl… but then she just wasn't dead and knifed her own SELF, GUYS!!!! It's a fricken amazing story…

So it was all ah-mazing, and stuff, and the crowd was all wild. Because Kyle puts on some SWEET plays.

And then, in the back of the room, the ghost of Shakespeare was seen, shedding pearlescent tears…

…of angus.

Oops.

ANGST!

Wow, guys, we need to stop now.

We need some fresh direction with this.

SO!

EITHER…

A) Ashley's BIG SUPER DARK ICKY DEEP SECRET TO END ALL SECRETS. Fo' sho'.

or

B) SUPAH fluff. Hermione/Snape. WHEEEEEEEEEE! Like, cotton candy sunshine sugar bunnies fluffy. And golden retriever puppies. And a kitten or five. And a cloud. And a rainbow. And some marshmallows. Maybe some peanut butter.

…Guys… The creative juices weren't exactly flowing tonight. They were clogged by the mucus in Kyle's inner brain pipes. And… yeah, I don' t know what's wrong with Rudy. Probably Marching…Band…being…over.

So review and make fun of how lame we are and what-not, but see, we know it was retarded and not funny and… It's okay. We know. You guys have stupid chapters too, right?

And Kyle just thought of a NUMBER C) Totally and utterly random. We're talking Ducks to Lamps in under 2 sentences. It's gonna be sweet.


	5. Chapter 5

As we sat, sipping girly drinks and eating magic-in-a-crust pie, we felt a lot unlike the lone, lonely, alone, solitary, single, solo biscotti on the tan dessert tray in our favorite coffee house. So, as Rudy drank'd the last of his Snickerdoodle Thing, and Kyle licked the whipped cream out of his mix'd froot smoothie, they looked at each other and gasp'd. They were _awesome_.

AWESOMELY READY FOR CHAPPY FIZZLIVELELEZ.

Rudy cough'd. That, he decided, was dumb.

Kyle believed in miracles.

But neither of those two things have anything, whatsoever, in any way, by any means, in any circumstances, under any Commie regime, by my Great Uncle Regina, to do with this here chappy.

But, as we all know, or, at least, if we voted ahem's, this be the RANDOM CHAPPY. So it doesn't really matter, now does it?

ON TEW FIVE.

Over in yonder distance, yon background character, henceforth known as Schveven, reaches for yon flask. Which isn't ye flask. It's… yon flask.

A/N: We do believe we're doing some serious kitten revival by famousositizing a background character. I mean, he's always been there. He's just never seen any of the Potteresque action.

Poor, poor Schveven.

A/N: Oosht.

So, this SCHVEVEN, affectionately known as SCHVEV by his buddies (all one of them), was a short, phat (no, wait, FAT), elfish lookin' dude of about schveventeen years. Of age.

He had hair of the less voluptuous variety, all 15 strands of it. 'Twas dyed black. Jet. Emo. Vivid. BLAAAAACK. He usually wore a pretty bow in it. Sometizzimes it done gone fell'd out. Or, OOOT if'n you's feelin's CANADIEN. Yep, we're leaving that typo.

You know what's funny about said typo? RUDY. WROTE. IT. AND. LEFT. IT.

Yep, so Schveven, our resident hero or maybe loser turned sorta heroic guy, was reaching for YON FLASK.

ONE MAN.

ONE FLASK.

ONE JOURNEY.

ONE…

…VOIP!

Suddenly, Schveven found himself in the harem of COBB'S KNOB.

If you don't know what we're talking about, first repent and ask for forgiveness, then join Kingdom of Loathing Dot Com.

AN ADVENTURER IS SCHVEVEN!

So, he done gone partied in said HAREM. BUT!

Danae's adventurer, a Disco Bandit, alibi done gone found him. She felt sorry for his background'dness and gave him A LINOLEUM SWORD and some NINJA HAWT PANTS. He certainly felt more moxious.

Then, Kara's character, a Sauceror with ATTITUDE, made him a Jabeñero Saucesphere. He certainly felt more…

Uh.

SAUCY.

(Ooh, a cheesy line!)

He thanked them and headed for the door in further search of his beloved Yon Flask. But firsht, he stumble'd upon a harem girl.

Believe the rumors about those Harem Girls. They's all troo.

He got all up in huh face and hamstring'd her with his Linoleum swizzord for schveventy two damage. BOFF! BOOM! SOCKO! KAPOW! ZOT! SPLAT! WHAM!

He acquired 40 meat and some harem perfume.

He was kinda happy aboot that. BUT THEN!

Nothin' happened'd.

He left.

RANDOM'D!

SUDDENLY! OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF THE DEEP DARK DEPTHLY DEPTHS OF THE WORLD…

A butterfly, flying in the breeze…

WAS SHOT DOWN!

This, as it turned out, was performed by a little kid in an Indian suit. What the Farkiss.

He made that annoying war cry thingy…whoop…thing where he like, screamed and like, removed his hand from his mouth and then covered it again, you know? And he did that like, really fast, and so he, like, sounded…Indian. COMPRENDE?

"Si!" said some lil' Señor.

Then, said Indian chico was all SHOOTY on the lil' Mexican dude. Just like the monarch.

"WILL THE REIGN OF TERROR NEVER CEASE!?!? TO EXIST? IN…THIS…Place…or France?" Ronaldo N. Wheaslie, Ronny B.'s evil third Cousin, twice remove'd, screamed.

Our Uncle Jason made a little noise that sounded summat like "MROW."

BUT THEN!

THE FIRST ACTUAL HARRY POTTER CHARACTER TO APPEAR IN THIS CHAPTER!

Was too busy drinking a latte to show up.

Lazy fool.

So, replacing him, we give you…

DRACO MALFOY.

Dancing.

He dances, so well. 'Tis the dance to end all dancy dances of dancing dances. In any part of Europe. Or Sri Lanka.

"What?" Draco said. "I'm…not…dancing…"

BUT!

Kyle, our resident DISCO bandit, pulled out a gnollish plunger and MADE DRACO DANCE.

SENSUALLY!

Cause, well…Kyle likes.

And here Kyle can be heard goin' all "Eeew…" But kind've not convincing-like.

And Kara's makin' this, "meh…" sound, but Draco's dancing, and that's the basic point we're trying to get across.

So now that you're completely lost, we'll recap.

Schveven is voip'd into Kingdom of Loathing, where he is fighting off Hawt Knob Goblin Harem chicas.

Some butterfly lays dead and perished and departed and deceased in its prime glory years, abruptly cut short by some Mexicano Indian kid… Who just didn't get his chicle.

Kyle is making Draco dance.

Sensually.

And now we're recapping.

NO MORE NUMBREROS.

At this point, Kyle makes himself a numbrero hat.

Rudy, an avid French speaker with no respect for the Spanish, Mexicans or Spanish speakers anywhere, throws up a little. Inside.

To cleanse this story of its obvious transgressions against all that is right and good, Rudy screams things en Français. C'est genial, en realite.

"Youppi! Je parle Français et c'est sexy! Tres, TRES SEXY!"

"Tais TOI!" some random French guy yelled.

"Desole. I mean sorry." Tres, TRES SEXY!

"Tais TOI!" some random French guy yelled.

"Desole. I mean, sorry."

--

IN UNRELATED NEWS, Fifi is your newest fannnnntassyyyyy. And she be in da hizzouse.

Fifi quoth: "COMING MAHDAAAM."

She is Fwanch. Rooooody liketh hers.

Yup.

Holy cow. So, as we tip our HeinekenMEOW glasses to another stupid, stupid, stupid.

Thing.

Chappy.

Stuff.

Anyway…It probably didn't really satisfy any cravings for CLICHÉ BUSTER-ness, so we're sorry. Oh well.

Too bad.

SO!

Murder Mystery chapter! In the Dursley household! IT WAS SCHARLET! IN THE BALLROOM! WITH THE CANDLESTICK!

Or, if you've played electronic Clue, with the lawn gnome. Woo!

Harry decides not to fulfill his destiny as EMOHEROGUYWIZARDHarry, and instead…

CHOOSES THE PATH OF…

Normalcy. (shudder)


	6. Chapter 6

Aftah much ado…

And a few pounds of coffee cake…

And a little bit of dancing…

CHAPTER 6 COMETH!

Like a butterfly on the breeze. Or not.

--

Deep in the recesses of 4 Privet Drive, a thump was heard. A reverberating thump. A morbid thump. A SINISTER thump. The kind of thump accompanied by silence and softly swaying curtains in the average B-grade thriller.

Dudley was…

…A'scared.

But then he realized that it was merely his stomach. He ate a whale and went back to playing "Super Busy Hospital III" on his Wii.

JUST THEN!

Another thump, identical to the first 'cept less from Didder's tummay, was hearded. By Dudley.

He wondered if there was a person at the door. "Come in, I can't get the door for you. I'm healing this guy who got shot in the head 57 times."

No one entered… 'Cept for a feeling of gloom. And dread. And despair. And such.

...And sensuality.

JUST KIDDING.

Dudley-gasp- paused his game and peeked his plump face out of the door of his twenty-second bedroom (his 'Wii' room) and looked around for the source of the thumpage. Nothing was to be founded'ded'd.

'Cept fo'…

…

…

…

DUDDERS'S FIRSTEST CLUE!

A bloody footprint in the shape of a…

…

Uh, shoe.

Which would have been more obvious had Dudley not been in a state of…X-TREME shock.

Obviously, his mother had just been brutally murdered. The footprint was her killer's shoe, covered in dear old mummy's blood. The thumping was the excessive volume on his subwoofers in his pimp van.

And as he thought about the vast array of evidence, Dudley scratched his chin. He realized something.

He had no beard.

Wait, nix that.

He realized - it was ALL coming together.

Upon further inspection of said bloody footprint, Dudley gathered that the print faced northward, and was succeeded by numerous other prints of the same variety. As in, if they were in the same store, they would have the same price tag, or else you are being ripped off major-like. He followed the footprints down the hallway and into the kitchen, where his mother was chopping tomatoes.

THE EVIDENCE!

THE INVESTIGATION!

THE TOMATOES!

…It was all coming together, now.

His mother… may not be dead after all.

But we all know what happens when you assume, so Dudley gave the situation the benefit of the doubt and carried on his inspection in the kitchen. Sometime in the ten minutes Dudley was figuring all of this out, Petunia put down her knife just long enough to check the weather in the other room. Dudley noticed the juice'd knife and gulped.

…His mother's murder weapon!

He picked it up, deposited it in a plastic bag, and rolled it up in his hoodie for forensic investigation. He tip-toed to the Polkiss residence and knocked on the door…grimly. In a grim fashion. With a grim grimace.

Which reminds me, I haven't gotten on Kingdom of Loathing in a while.

Anyway, long story short, no one was home. Dudley, he decided, would just have to take matters into his own hands.

He surveyed his pudgy fingers.

_How could these sausages solve a murder?!_

But lo, the evidence was beginning to rot. The smell of hot tomato juice wafted upwards into his creamy nostrils. Don't ask why they were creamy. The point is that they were, now shut up and listen.

He rushed back to the house. Maybe his mother could be found and saved! Maybe he could even find her murderer, still lurking amongst the shadows of his once safe home, waiting for his moment to strike…

…Or maybe that shady goldfish bowl held his next clue.

As he passed over the threshold into the bloodbath that was his house, he shuddered. What evil lurked within these walls! Speaking of the walls, the one opposite was bathed in light, save for a patch in the shape of an overgrown bowling ball with legs…WHAT WAS THIS WORLD COMING TO? FIRST HIS MOTHER, NOW THE WALLS???

Oh.

That was his shadow.

Even so, he decided to keep the suspense pumpin' like the Black Eyed Peas and dashed out of the room in a frenzy. A panic. A passionate agitation of his corporeal self!

Gasp.

Anywhoodles, as he was dashing, he realized something. It was all coming together.

Wait, no. He had nothing. TO THE FISHBOWL!

At said fishbowl, the lazily floating goldfish looked at him. It was a look of deep meaning. Meaning too deep for Dudley to understand without much thought. Thought encompassing multiple hours.

BUT THEN. In the reflection of the goldfish's scales, he saw something rather unnerving.

Harry Potter.

Was in his house. Oh, that's right. He lived there.

SOMETIMES.

He waved a polite hello and went to gather his things, Dudley following closely, mistrustfully, surreptitiously.

Harry reached his bedroom door, and before Dudley could follow him inside, another loud thump was heard - that of Dudley's face being hit with the wooden hinge-mounted, knob-encompassing slab of pain.

Ow.

It was all coming together now, he thought. The ceiling, he thought, as he looked up from his crumpled position on the carpet…the ceiling should hold the answers.

To everything.

Ever.

In the world.

He gazed there for a while, that is, until his most ingenious idea ever hit like a brick wall to the face.

Or like a door to the face, too, since he had so much experience with all of that.

His father!

Dudley rolled onto his stomach and heaved himself up to his feet, then ran as fast as he could down the steps and into the living room. The trip took a good thirty minutes.

His father sat in his easy chair, gazing wearily at the TV. The news was on as usual, and Petunia had gone out to the grocery store.

Dudley pointed one of his sausage-like hand appendages at the great beast of a man and declared what had to be the truth: His father had taken the life of his mother, and now he was going to pay.

His father paid no mind; he was too busy learning about Hilary Clinton's reign of terror across the Atlantic Ocean and Democratic Parties everywhere.

Rudy threw up in his mouth.

At the sound of his father's dead silence, Dudley hobbled across the room and did an impression of tackling his father to the ground, which was a little more like falling on top of him and smacking around his face. The easy chair crumpled, and in a moment they were wrestling on the floor. Sounds emanated out of the room and into the whole of Britain, for an explosion had occurred in this moment, as two 400+ pound males cannot face impact without heavy repercussions.

Thus ends my long, wordy sentence.

And thus begins the part of the story where Petunia walked in the door and wondered WTF was happening. Usually Vernon and Dudley didn't wrestle without there being a ham on the line, but today obviously was different. Now if she could just find her knife, she'd be able to finish chopping those damn tomatoes and get lunch on the table.

She walked into the kitchen, the sound of slaps and grunts still radiating from across the hall. Now, where was that knife?

In the living room, Dudley and Vernon were still dukin' it out old school. Like, in West Side Story. Dudley was…Bernardo, protecting Maria - I mean Petunia's memory…and Vernon was Tony.

Or we could never compare them to the stage ever again.

Anywhoodles. Dudley's rage at his father was building in his cholesterol-blocked veins like the Tower of Babel.

Or something more blood like, too. That could work.

ANYWAY. He was full of rage. Malice. Hatred. And…he had a secret weapon. Stashed in his pocket and sheathed in Petunia's blood/tomato juice, it was the only way Dudley could beat the street smart VernonTony.

He brandished the shining blade. Ignoring the inscription of "Emeril's Home Collection" on the blade, he christened the blade I'makillmyfathercausehekill'dmymum, or Excalibur for short. This happened very quickly, as one may imagine.

The moment he had done some X-treme brandishment, Vernon backed off of him and walked into the kitchen. He alerted his wife to the fact that he had found her knife and asked what was for lunch.

As they were discussing the matter, a war cry and the heavy footfalls of a baby whale on human legs were heard. The Dursleys were shocked to see that Dudley was going for Vernon's throat.

Petunia yelled a little at him.

Him being Dudley.

Then, Kyle and Rudy, collapsing on their keyboard out of sheer, unadulterated fatigue, decided to cut it short with the following:

Harry ran downstairs, snapped Dudley's neck, and the day was saved again by Harry Potter.

Who now had a life jail sentence.

Oh, the irony.

--

Now, you and your friends can all do the Dudley at your next school dance! Merely simulate that you are snapping your partner's neck…

…or maybe not.

ANYWAY.

Extra Credit: What was different about this chapter? If you can't figure this out, you're a little…retarded. By a little, I mean super-duper.

And then if you get it right, well, you can just dream of the brownie points.

CHOISSISSISSIONS.

Draco harbors awkward feelings for Harry/ Ron. What does he do?! How will they react?! Will they reciprocate his gay!Draco LOVE?!?! Tune in next week on Dawson's Creek!

Or

The HP cast is transferred to Ashley's old school in America: Sparkleheimer's Academy for the Magically and American-ly Gifted. But how will the American students react? Who gets pregnant? Who will get shot? Who will get stabbed after a raging interschool orgy?! Tune in next week on Degrassi to find out these burning questionses!!!!11!1!!1!!


	7. Chapter 7

To All of Our Dear Readers,

Sup, yo? We realize that the vast majority of our more dedicated fans have dwindled from the world of FanFiction, because we did, too. In fact, when we decided to continue Crap, we set out to re-scour the bowels of the site.

Which explains why Rudy just went into a coma.

It's pretty disgusting what we saw some of you guys writing. A new generation of terror has spawned from the formerly just-plain-stupid bunch. We noticed even more clichés amassing like a cholesterol-block around the heart that is good writing. We observed new writing styles of awful(osity). Just like a one-winged dove, trying to alight on a branch, it's inevitably going to fall off and die in a heap of ugly, mis-balanced poo.

So, we're back with a friggin' vengeance. THE BOYZ ARE BACK IN TOWN!

Anyway, we've noticed the following and will try our hardest to sprinkle it in wherever we can this chapter:

Long, detailed back stories with no real relevance to what is going on.

Funnily-spelled names.

Super-long, winded paragraphs.

Stupid, trying-to-be-friendly forewords.

Emphasis on trying to "write British-ly" (mostly awful-ly) by using 'rather', 'quite', and 'really'. A lot.

Stupid sign-offs (our favorite: "Ever yours.").

Characters having "cool, modern stuff".

Overly-sweetened, soap opera-style details.

Okay. On to the Friendly Foreword!

DISCLAIMER: Hey, this is our like, 15th fic, so don't flame us, because writing well can only come from experience on FanFiction dot net, not from classrooms or everyday life or anything. This chapter is dedicated to Jesus, because I love him very much and He's always blessed me with a great sense of propriety and social eloquence, as I am displaying now.

Okay, I don't own Harry Potter, and I felt called to say that because you might be confused and think that J.K. Rowling got bored and posted something on a website, when she could make millions by farting on a paperclip.

And, to our one reviewer from last chapter, I just think that it's so magical that you have reviewed our story. We think that you have made our lives so special. You can never know how much we owe you, dear Mighty Lord Moldy-Shorts, and we love you. You hear us? WE LOVE YOU. WE CAN'T QUIT YOU. You had us at "-dies laughing-".

So, (and we SERIOUSLY found this in someone's story during our sour scour) remember the old rhyme, "BE COOL AND REVIEW!"

Hugs, love and kisses,

Kyle, the lover of puppies and sugar, and Rudy, the savior of unicorns and daylilies

Ron gazed rather intensely at the crumpled, light tan with a hint of puce, three-by-four and a quarter inch piece of parchment paper as the golden, shiny, happy, trippy, hopeful sun shone through the toned-down, lacey, betrothed curtains. He used one three and a half inch long finger to rub his throbbing, freckled, silky, milky, creamy temple, which was throbbing with the horrific throb of a thousand throbbing throbbers (not to be confused with robbers). Sensually.

"My… My best mate…" he whispered, crumpling to the floor in a heap of crumpled angst. "He's gone. Forever."

Hermione crossed the room, gown dragging (sensually) against the turpentine-encrusted floor. Her ethereal presence brought a momentary sense of peace and tranquility to Ron's torment, sadness, and general bad mood. "Ron, my sweet, sweet man toy, what brings you grief?"

Ron's eyes momentarily left the parchment shaking in his hands to alight for one swift, sweet, brief moment upon Hermione's chocolate orbs.

She looked back at him. In the eyes.

Meaning they made eye contact. Magical, sensual, therapeutic eye contact.

And then he looked back at his parchment.

(Do you realize we just said… Nothing?)

"Harry's been given a life sentence in jail!" Ron said, pain dripping from his words like rain from the gutter of his heart.

"Azkaban?" Hermione asked, concern filling her eyes and face like blood in a cup of pain.

"No. Scotland Yard." Ron said, dropping his face.

Hermione bent over, picked Ron's dropped-ed face from the floor and replaced it on his skull.

Seamus, stepping out of the shadows of backgroundness, killed the moment with a shot of classic Irish sensibility.

"Well, aren't we a bunch of wizards? Why the crap wouldn't we just break him out?" he said.

Ron and Hermione, still half-trapped in their little "As the World Turns" meets Harry Potter moment, were slow on the uptake of Seamus's suggestion.

"Oh." Ron said after a pensive moment. "Yeah, let's go."

"Okay." Hermione agreed.

SENSUALLY.

AND THUS BEGINS THE LONGEST, MOST UNNECESSARILY UNBROKEN PARAGRAPH… EVER.

Hermione and Ron went to collect their brooms for the trip. Seamus followed behind, but flew backwards when they reached the broom closet, as he is a background character and he's already used up his one line for the chapter. He landed in a box labeled "Seamus: Background Member 6". So, Ron and Hermione left without him. They flew threw the sky, not bothering to enjoy the quiet wisp of wind that whipped the hair from their faces (say THAT three times fast!). When they reached the looming walls of Scotland Yard, Ron began to get second thoughts on their little adventure; what if they got caught? What if they got shot? What if couldn't make it? What if Ron got distracted by prison food or a particularly attractive inmate? HOW COULD THEY SAVE HARRY FROM THE MOST HIGHLY-TRAINED POLICE FORCE THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN? And then he remembered…they had wands. They could turn all the cops into pretty, pretty princesses. And so, that's what they did. As the un-loved inmates had their way with the pretty, pretty princesses, Hermione unlocked Harry's cell, and Ron hoisted the pale, frightened figure that was his best friend onto his shoulders. They hopped onto their brooms and headed for the sky-top Chuck e. Cheese from Chapter 3. After hours of ski-ball and pizza, they headed back to hoggy, warty Hogwarts. Arriving on the green lawns, they decided they should see what SUDDENLYNOTDEAD!Dumbledore was up to. They walked into his orifice…I mean office, and Ron felt a pang of jealousy upon seeing the Headmaster's FLY attire. Dumbledore was wearing the most fabulous, stunning plaid red flares and a clashing plaid flannel button-down under...Could it be?...Was it really?...Yes. Yes, Dumbledore was wearing Mr. Rodgers's red cardigan. How could Dumbledore have it? Why didn't Ron own that piece of brilliance? It was like magic in 100% Scottish lambswool form! Damn that headmaster. Ron wished he was fly like him.

THUS ENDS PROBABLY NOT THE LONGEST, MOST UNNECESSARILY UNBROKEN PARAGRAPH… EVER.

"Where'd you get those sweet 90s grunge duds?" Harry asked.

"None of your business," Dumbledore said, dismissing the question immediately like a butterfly on a lie detector test (this is descriptive writing). "So, good thing y'all came in. I've got news for you anyway."

"ICE CREAM!" Ron screamed, running in circles, dancing in a mirthful fit of ecstasy, and pirouetting in an expression of untamable manliness.

"…No, but that gives me an idea for later," winked the headmaster, not thinking about the ice cream as much as Ron's creamy hamstrings as he did a perfect pirouette. "Yeah, so, you're all going to go with Ashley to Sparkleheimer's."

"…What?" Harry quipped, genuinely confused.

"Sparkle-"

"Sparkleheimer's is an American school for young wizards and witches, much like Hogwarts," Hermione interrupted, suddenly in character. "Its full name is 'Sparkleheimer's Academy for the Magically and American-ly Gifted, founded in 1969 by the late Reginald Sparkleheimer. Really it's just like Hogwarts, except with more buildings, more sushi, and less treacle fudge."

Ron's face fell. Again. After he picked it back up, he frowned. "Less treacle? Screw that." He stuck out his tongue, it froze that way, and he stomped out of the room.

"Well!" Dumbledore said, smiling giddily. "I guess Ron isn't going. How about Draco Malfoy comes with you in his place? After paying no attention to who you do and do not like after 7 years with you, I think you all would get along quite well!" he snickered in his fab British accent.

Hermione looked nonplussed, while Harry started rolling on the floor. "NOOOOO! I HATE…"

The tension hung in the air. Who did Harry hate? Who could it be?

"…"

"…"

"MRS. NORRIS!"

"Harry. What the crap," Dumbledore said, sounding way more like a 16-year-old American girl and less like a headmaster of inexact oldness.

"Also, I don't like Draco." Harry said calmly, in stark contrast to his previous outbreak.

"Oh. Well, too late. Anyway, I need you two to tag along with Draco, as he is competing in the Bi-Wizard tournament. I would come, too, but only bisexual people are allowed to go," Dumbledore mused, darting his eyes back 'n' forth, obviously hiding a deep, dark secret that J.K. Rowling had released months before. "He will compete against the Sparkleheimer champion, one Mr. Sugar Harrison Blade. Sugar Blade is a metrosexual, bisexual Starbucks barista. He also happens to be Ashley's ex-boyfriend."

At that moment, Ashley stepped out from the shadows, grinning.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN.

--

Sparkleheimer's was a dense population of gene pool rejects. As Ashley described them, they were not grouped into houses but cliques. One group consisted of half the population, stoners with not much of a future and an even poorer IQ. The smallest, a group of hippie vegans, mostly just made sweet tie-dye t-shirts out of hemp and sunshine. The Goths and emo kids sat next to each other, talking quietly about their poems, underground music, and pain. The preps hung out at the sushi bar or one of four Starbucks kiosks per building (there were 37). Then there was the Ash Pack.

As soon as they arrived, a group of screaming, perfumed, made-up girls tackled Ashley into a well-placed Perfect Landing Mat™. Huffing and puffing behind the general throng of Ashleys was a rather chubby girl with the most expensive but worst-fitting clothes of the bunch. After Ashley like, disentangled herself from the designer-clad knot of Ashleys, the main Ashley batted her eyes at the girl in the back, who had tried to tackle her but couldn't make it off the ground enough to jump. "Hey, Rhonda."

The chubby girl twiddled her fingers at Ashley, bearing a shy smile.

Ashley leaned over and whispered in Hermione's ear, "We only let her hang out with us because her daddy owns three quarters of the universe."

Hermione nodded politely and introduced herself to the group. She understood; she was a RCHGRRL, too, for a chapter.

BUT THEN. Wafting in on the breeze, the scent of hot man drifted like a dove from _beyond_. Ashley put her nose even higher in the air than usual.

"Sugar." She growled.

And sure enough, surrounded by admirers and cronies of both sexes, the best dressed and best coifed man of all time approached.

Harrison "Sugar" Blade. A name worthy of only such a mixture of unadulterated man and gay combined into one bundle of…

…sex.

Draco covered his fly.

So did Hermione.

Anyway, as Sugar approached, Ashley dove into the Ash Pack for some quick reapplication of lipgloss. She emerged, having changed into Hermione's dress from chapter 3.

Ashley looked disdainfully at Sugar as he passed, taking the moment to ravage poor, unsuspecting Harry.

Sugar merely continued toward Draco, an aura of sheer homoeroticism seeping from his butt hole.

Woo, pheromones.

"Hey, you must be my competition…The Hogwarts champion?"

Draco tried to say 'Yes,' but what came out was, "3-dimethyl carbonate pentyne,"

His chemistry-related psychobabble was lost on everyone but Harry, who thought of a REALLY cheesy line to use later at the opportune moment. Sugar closed in on Draco. "You know what they say, though. If you're from Hogwarts, you're warty. But if you're from Sparkleheimer's…YOU SPARKLE."

Kyle snapped his face in a rubber band.

"Hydroxycarbide!" Draco yelled contemptuously.

"I know what you mean, Draco, I can feel the chemistry between you two as well," Harry sneered, enjoying his opportuneness.

"Oh, Draco's _cute_, I guess…" Sugar said, flipping a perfectly-manicured hand at Draco. "But I've always liked glasses…"

As Sugar walked away, he blew a kiss to Harry. "Ugh. What a babytard," Harry muttered.

Draco, regaining the composure he had lost so quickly with the advent of Sugar, turned to Harry and said in what he undoubtedly thought was a very intimidating voice, "You. Talk. Now."

Hermione felt upset briefly when she realized that she wasn't invited but then saw an ad for free makeovers in a shop window. It had been like, three chapters since she got one, so she ran in to announce her neediness.

"So, what is it that you want?" Harry asked Draco, twiddling the tassels on his obligatory Gryffindor scarf nervously.

"I have a secret." Draco said quietly. Like, in a whisper, but not quite. "I think I might be…"

Harry leaned in to listen.

All the background music but a low cello note stopped.

Rhonda tried to ask Ashley a question, but Ashley bitchslapped her to get her to shut up.

Everything in the entire world was silent…

But that one dramatic cello note.

Draco closed his eyes.

He opened them.

Then he closed them again.

"I might be…" He paused again, for suspense. "I might be…"

A long pause ensued, but by this time, most of the American students' attention spans were absolutely shot, so it wasn't silent this time.

Draco leaned into Harry's ear. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh, I knew that." Harry said, uninterested by now and thinking about getting some greasy food. "Was that the secret?"

"Um…yeah. Yeah, it was." Draco scratched his head. BUT THEN HE REALIZED. He had an even -more-secret secret! "WAIT! I HAVE ANOTHER!" He yelled as Harry started off.

"What? You're in love with me?" Harry yelled over his shoulder.

"Uh…yeah. Yeah. I am." Draco said. "How did you know?"

"I read FanFiction, Draco. I know all about it." Harry shrugged his shoulders and walked off.

BUT THEN. Just like a brick off the Sears Tower, it hit him.

HARRY POTTER.

WAS.

IN LOVE.

WITH DRACO.

(It should be noted that this reaction complies with Section II, Article IV of the unwritten rules of FanFiction, which states: Whenever one character confesses undying, forbidden, or secret love for another, the beloved character must fall in love with the loving character. The beloved may react in one of two fashions, namely: they may snog the hell out of their lover, or they may begin to feel conflicted about their emotions.)

So, Harry's heart felt…conflicted.

He had so many emotions.

He felt conflicted about them.

That's why he wrote in his MANLY!diary that night, "I feel conflicted about my emotions towards Draco,"

Anyway, so. He would have slept well that night if it weren't for the fact that his heart felt like it was going to explode and the fact that "Harry+Draco+love" has 2,104 results on Fanfiction as of Rudy's most recent search. As he awoke, beads of sweat like drops of water, salt, and urea on his forehead, the only thing he could think about was Draco. _We must be meant to be…if 2,104 people have written stories about it, they've got to be onto something…there's no way that many authors could be so far off! There's no way that more than two thousand authors would have pulled us both so far out of character…_

And so, Harry decided that he would do something so crazy, so desperate, so completely ridiculous that Draco would have to fall in love with him too.

Oh, wait. He already was.

"AWESOME!" Harry yelled, foregoing any chance at worthwhile dialogue.

__

There is a point in every wizard's life where they must make a choice. A life-altering choice. A choice that is life-altering.

Yeah, but anyway, back to Sparkleheimer drama.

Actually, let's take a skip across the ol' pond.

Ron was musing about life, gorging himself on treacle, brushing his hair, and playing World of Warcraft. His level 24 Paladin marched fearlessly upon hordes of Orcs and crap. He pwn'd them all…shamelessly…and sensually.

Then he got a message from some dude in his guild that said:

_TO: 2inchweasel (Ron Weasley)_

_FROM: Bigdaddycheesecake_

_Hay dude im at sparkelheimerz and theirs some dude here called Hairy Potter he saiz hes from Hogfarts and I wunndered if you newd him n junk ._

_Kthanksbai_

_Bigdaddycheesecake_

_P.S. When R U going to send me those naughtie pix?_

Ron replied hastily and excitedly,

_TO: Bigdaddycheesecake_

_FROM: 2inchweasel (RON)_

_ATTACHMENT: _

_Hii buddie! I totes kno Harry Potterz! Hez like my BFF4L. OMG how iz he? I totes miss him omg I'm gunna apparate overz! C ya soon, babe!_

_Kthnxbai_

_2inchweasel_

_P. S. N Joy the PIX!!!! Lawlz (Hey don't send em to n e 1 else, k? Less theyre hawt… Lawlz)_

And he did exactly as he said, apparating right over the non-apparation restrictions of Hogfarts…I mean, warts.

Once he got there, he found an interesting scene. All the windows in every Starbucks were covered in his picture, tastefully censored with a little box that said, "BI-WIZRRD TOURNAMENT THIS WAI PLZ K THX BAI!".

Ron…WAS A STAR.

Anyway, he followed his instincts to a stadium much like the Quidditch stadium at Hogwarts but more like the Jets stadium. Inside, he found a huge pool with only four figures inside of it. The stands were full, watching what was taking place on the field, meaning the pool, which was on the field, which was covered with pool.

Everyone noticed Ron immediately, and either ripped off articles of clothing at the sight of his unadulterated manliness and creamy hamstrings or threw their junk n junk at his junk. Junk.

The crowd parted, making a path for Ron to get a front-row seat at the poolside. He saw Draco and some sparkly guy getting it on by way of a fierce game of chicken atop some totally queer mermaids' shoulders. It wasn't your classic game of Chicken – no shoving, no manly muscle striation, just a whole hell of a lot of slapping.

Bitchslapping.

Anyway, it was intense. Especially when the tension became too strong to resist and they just started making out. The two Brazilian-cut Speedo-clad contestants fell at the same time into the water in a splash of homoeroticism.

But sitting on the sidelines, a seething Harry plotted his revenge. "How can that Nancy-boy make out with my man? My gorgey Draco!"

He jumped into the pool with a valiant, "BETCH!" and began slapping the shit out of Sugar's hair.

As in, Sugar used organic hair products made from cow shit.

Anyway, Sugar screamed and left. "Draco! I thought you loved me!" Harry yelled, tenderly picking a sparkle from Draco's bellybutton.

With his tongue.

"I'm sorry!" Draco said, "You were right, the chemistry was too strong! But I really do love you!"

"How can I trust that that was only a fit of the LUST BUNNIES?"

"Let me prove it to you, BABYTARD," Draco whispered, sensually taking Harry's ---- in his --- and allowing Harry to ---- ------- ----- and ---- with his ---- while he --- and ----. "Harry, I want to ------- and ----- until ----- and ------ with my ----- and your ----! OMG!"

(Censorship here, kidlets, is not a bad idea, as you can see.)

They decided that Sparkleheimer's blows and left, while Ashley stayed behind to convince Sugar to impregnate her. Hermione and Ron left first, as they had both already been satisfied, but Harry and Draco continued their illicit romp in the pool long enough that someone abso-flippin-lutely retarded could write about ten chapters of it. Anyway, then they left and everyone was happy…except the families of the children at Sparkleheimer's, because the 46th Starbucks had a nuclear meltdown and everyone died.

Including Ashley and Sugar, her sweet man toy, and her iridescent, voluptuous hair.

Because Rudy and Kyle hate both of them.

THE END!

…of this chapter.

MAKE A CHOICE, BEEYOTCH?!

(To be said with crescendo)

a. Superdumb crossover of Harry Potter and Twilight, which neither of us have read, so you'll have to tell us what happens.

Or

b. When Ron's World of Warcraft playing becomes an addiction, how do his friends help him rebuild his tattered life? Also, what happens when Hermione has an online boyfriend and becomes addicted…to…cybersex?


	8. Chapter 8

I just saw Taylor Swift on television, so I'm grumpy as I begin this chapter. I have nothing against her, I just…

Oh, wait, scratch that.

Anyway, enough of my opinions.

This chapter will be a romp of joy through fields of lilies that bite your ankles and cause you to bleed to death.

SENSUALLY.

…Had enough of that joke yet?

Because we haven't.

Anyway, let's begin. Reader's Choice = Twilight Saga Crossover.

…heh heh heh.

Stupid minions.

The beauty of the scene was not lost on Ron. His life was nearly complete. He had everything.

That is to say, he just leveled up on WoW, and he was now a LEVEL FREAKING 70 PALADIN. He loved this game. He loved this game. He loved it…Like Elvis loves BACON.

"It was never supposed to turn out this way…" Ron thought in the back of his mind. He wondered how he had become so obsessed. Perhaps it was the high quality graphics. Perhaps it was the riveting gameplay. Could it be the camaraderie of his guild? The forty-year-old hermits attempting to sound like beautiful twenty-something young women looking for love in a world of bloodlust? No. It was definitely the graphics.

This was his fiftieth straight hour of battle. He hadn't risen from his throne of desire to eat, drink, or potty. Not to say that he hadn't done all three. In reverse order.

EEW.

As his face inched closer to his MacBook Air, he didn't realize how close he was to touching the screen. But he kept moving forward. Had he been aware of his surroundings, he would've noticed that he should've hit the screen by then. But he had developed that certain vision gamers get, you know how when you play Guitar Hero for too long and then you look at the wall and it morphs? That's freaking weird, isn't it?! I can't get over that!

But I digress…

Basically what happened here is that for some reason unbeknownst to us (I'm sick of being original!), Ron fell, somehow, into his game.

No longer was he playing as a Paladin. He _was _a paladin. The armor he had forged by hand – suddenly, it was his, fitting him like…

Hand-forged armor.

And his sword, Friar Borken, was so comfortingly heavy in his freckly hand.

He finished slaying the Orc in front of him and turned. This copse - his guild headquarters, had never seemed so alive with love, lust, and lemmings.

He picked up a small furry creature and cradled it in his arms. "I will take you to bed and we will make love for eternity. Oh, um, wrong line… ZOMFG URZ ADRABLZZZZ!!!!"

It took a few more moments of luscious cradling for Ron to realize that he and Nicolas, his lemming, were not alone in the copse. A set of iBallz was peering out from behind the fronds of a frondy fern which was haphazardly placed near the lemming hole. That's where the lemmings came in.

"Lo, who goes there?" Ron demanded in a demanding tone, the kind of tone that one who is used to demanding things uses. "Reveal yourself!" (He demanded this as well.)

The first thing he saw was a frondy fern. Then from out behind it came a bare leg. It was silky, milky, and creamy. And pale. Somehow, in descriptive ways that I cannot even begin to word correctly because they are so unfathomable, it looked cold. (How the hell does something LOOK cold? Unless it is ice, in which case you could logically infer that it was cold. However, in this case it is a leg, and will eventually be attached to a body- hopefully- and therefore can in no way look cold. But somehow, it just did, so STFU.) Ron licked his lips as he spotted a tattoo on the leg's ankle.

"Wait," he wondered, "…What _is_ that?"

He squinted (the leg had stopped moving so he could get his look) and recognized the shape of a fork. Ron didn't know what to make o' this, and quite frankly, neither do we.

Anyway, aside from the fork tattoo, the leg itself was astonishing. As the dim sunlight danced across the leg's snowy white skin, the epidermis glimmered ever so slightly, ever so sensually.

Eventually the leg continued to slowly remove itself from the shadows…

You know what, sorry, that wasn't a very well-constructed sentence.

Eventually the body attached to the leg moved the leg out of the shadows moreso than the leg actually did…

Man, this isn't working.

Ron saw a bare thigh, then the end of a short skirt made of cashmere and baby seal. It was obviously very expensive and more than likely produced in a sweat shop in Timbuktu. So it had to've been old.

Wow, this is a big night for going off on tangents, isn't it?

Once again, I digress…

The rest of the figure came into full view from behind Frondy, the frondy fern. It was thin and waiflike, with dark circles under soulless eyes and a gratuitous amount of product in its limp hair. Sugar would not have approved. But he's dead. Anyway, it was supposed to be sexy, but something about fork tattoos and greasy hairs is just…you know.

BUT SOMEHOW SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL.

Quick as a flash, (which, Ron mused, was strange compared to how long it took for her to just get her damn body out from behind Frondy, the frondy fern) this figure was next to Ron. The sunlight glinted off this figure's skin. Red flags went off in Ron's head.

"I know what you are. You sparkle in the sunlight. You're pale and unattractive but somehow OMG SO FREAKING BEAUTIFUL."

"What? Say it. Say it OUT LOUD." The sparkly figure sparkled as she said this piece of sparkling dialogue.

"You're a…mage class dwarf. Level 60 at least."

"What? No."

"Oh. 65?"

"WHAT?" The not-actually-a-mage/dwarf sputtered. "For God's sake, I'm a vampire named Bella Swan. What? Ain't it purdy?"

"Pssh, you'd die. It's super sunny, and I just ate shrimp scampi."

"What? No, I'm not allergic to shellfish. And what's this with the sun?"

"Uh, vampires turn into dust in the sunlight. And I mean, you know, shrimp scampi has a ton of garlic in it. So, you know, you couldn't stand being around me…?" Ron wondered what kind of head trauma had been inflicted upon this dwarf mage during an ill-fated raid.

"What? No, my husband, who is also a vampire, lived in freaking Italy for awhile. He went there because he loved me so much."

"You went with him?"

"What? No. He went by himself, because he loved me so much."

"Oh. So he brought you back a present?"

"What? No. I just went to save him from killing himself, you know, by revealing himself to a bunch of humans in red Snuggies."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Does your husband beat you with a baseball bat or something?"

"What? No. He's only emotionally abusive."

_Well, you can't have brains and beauty…_Ron mused. _Also, you can't have your cake and eat it too…and while we're at it, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. _"So, what are you doing here? Are you on a secret vampire mission?"

"What? I got bored and ate my husband and child, so now I'm on the lamb."

"Like, literally?" Ron asked, dropping his lemming and scouring the copse for a baby sheep.

"What? No. What? I'm running away from people who want to hurt me. What? But I am a superhero, so I'm probably OK for the time being. What? Wanna fuck?"

"…Yes."

So they did, and Ron got the shit beat out of him.

"THAT WAS NOT FUN OR SATISFYING BY ANY MEANS!" Ron shouted when they were finished. "AND YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DESTROY THE FURNITURE!"

"What? The only furniture in this copse is that air mattress over there, and it wasn't touched," Bella said, pointing to a deflated air mattress. "What? It was like that when we got here."

Ron glared at her. "You know what? Vampires suck. I'm gonna go watch True Blood, so you can suck on that. …Heh. No pun intended." Ron snickered to himself. And so did Kyle, with no one joining in.

"What? Why would you watch that? What? All that show is is a bunch of young average-looking, mediocre actors being overpaid simply because they jumped on a bandwagon and- …Oh…"

Bella slumped over and began to cry. Her tears were puppies.

Ron reached out a quivering hand. "What's wrong, my sweet, sweet mantoy?" He ventured, stroking her grease- er, hair.

"What? I just realized that I belong to a social standard that only teenage geeks and girls without boyfriends look up to. What? The only long-standing aspect to my relationship with my former –burp- husband is that he was mightily attractive, and for some reason I feel like he was related to you in some way… What? Did you know anyone named Cedric Diggory?"

Ron's brain exploded immediately.

"…What?" Bella asked. She licked some blood off Ron's ear. Then she ate him, too.

Then she frolicked off into the wilderness to practice being sexy, rich, intelligent, selfless, pragmatic, original, independent, and really good at drawing faces on crackers with Squeezy Cheese™.

END.

Sorry so short, Kyle had to go home.

YOUR CHOICES FOR NEXT CHAPTOR:

A. Harry travels to Rio de Janeiro to take back what is rightfully his… THE OLYMPICS.

Or

B. It's Christmas time at Hogfarts, and mistletoe isn't the only thing in the air… Because Snape drugged Hermione and dragged her into his lair. …or did he?


End file.
